in different shapes you move
by bluestoplights
Summary: Storybrooke doesn't frequently allow for moments - seconds, even - of peace. Killian and Emma have to take advantage of it while they can. They don't plan on leaving this bed, their bed, anytime soon.
**A/N: Hey, you guys sick of me yet? Sorry to post twice in one day, just wanted to get this out. Liz (caprelloidea) basically told me to write this, so this is all of her fault. What started out as me being like "Hey, remember that tattoo this fandom headcanoned during that missing year, what happened to that?" turning into this. Which is over 6k. Sometimes, things escalate and you just gotta go with it. I hope you guys enjoy this fic - and thanks to Amber for reading over this/encouraging me to publish/being Great in General. Title comes from Typhoon's Summer Home aka that song that played on the series finale of Selfie that I'm forever bitter over. That song is the best.**

 **-/-**

She lies awake on a lazy morning, both of them too tired to leave the bed. Emma promised she'd sleep for weeks and, while the schedule of the town Sheriff hardly permits that, she thinks she can at least sacrifice a day. She's kept enough of her promises (and God - er, Zeus knows that he kept his). Emma can at least afford only halfway, one-seventh of the way, keeping this one.

Emma doesn't intend on leaving this bed anytime soon today.

She hums contentedly as the sun filters through the curtains on the windows, her body sinking further into the space between his body and their (the thought of it being theirs, when the thought of a bed just being hers for so long was a unfulfilled want for so long, makes her heart feel unbearably full) bed. Killian is awake, just barely, his hand over hers on his chest where she's feeling his heart beat a steady rhythm. Her nose is lodged in the crook of his shoulder, her legs tangled in his, and her midsection occupying that sliver of space on the bed. His handless arm is wrapped around her hips, pressing the sheets against her skin, and this is the most comfortable Emma thinks she's ever been.

Emma could spent the entire day just in this position. By the contentment she catches on his face when her eyes flicker up to meet his - they just woke up twenty minutes ago, but they've been quiet and in and out of it since then - he shares her feelings. His hand tightens over hers and she can't hold back a soft, small smile against his skin.

"Are you happy?" Killian asks, suddenly, the raspy timbre of his voice breaking the silence.

She tilts her head up to meet his eyes, the palest shade of blue she's seen them. Her hand presses more firmly against his heart, feeling it thump against his ribcage. His hand slides up from over hers, cupping her cheek lightly. His thumb runs slow circles on her cheek, a light affectionate touch that warms her from the outside in.

"Yeah," she says, so softly she isn't certain he can hear it. Emma is happy, just like this. The happiness she's always been chasing for as long as she could remember - the happiness she could always find in short bursts with the right foster family or in a cramped Volkswagon with Neal or in those little moments she gets with Henry or her parents. The happiness that's always threatened by mortal peril or actual death, the happiness she almost left behind in an elevator shaft in the Underworld.

Emma swallows, unshed tears pricking behind her eyelids as she closes them. She feels him press against her cheek, a gentle tap to remind her he's here, that he isn't going anywhere, that he came back and he's staying. The gentle prodding an insistence that Killian isn't leaving her, even if it means coming back from the dead a fourth or a fifth of a sixth time. In a sea of being left alone, of being abandoned, he's been what's always remained. And under her palms, his warmth surrounding her, Emma knows this.

Killian doesn't say anything, just waits patiently until she's ready - true to form.

She eventually finds her words and opens her eyes, her voice strengthening. "I'm happy here with you, like this."

"Then why are you crying?" he laughs, teasing and playful in an attempt to add some levity to the scene, his forehead leaning up to press against her chin. Emma props herself up on her elbow and lets her hand move from his heart to his hair, gently massaging the dark strands she finds there.

"I'm," she pauses to think about it for a moment, to ready her voice. Emma leans back to meet his eyes, his face tilted upwards to meet hers. She kisses him instead of answering, his hand curling into her hair as she leans down to meet his lips. It's easy, soft, natural.

They stay with their foreheads pressed against each others for a little while, once they separate. Emma slides into his lap, the sheet he's draped in that she's just shed serving as a barrier between them, her arms snaking around his shoulders. Killian kisses her again, more firmly and passionately, and she lets out a satisfied sigh.

"I'm relieved," Emma says, finally getting out her explanation once her lips leave his again. "I'm overwhelmed, I think, and I'm happy. Happy you're here, happy we're together, happy I…" she laughs, head dipping to the curve of his shoulder. His arms wrap more snugly around her in response. "I think the sleep deprivation got to me. How much did we just sleep?"

"Ah…" he seems to ponder that, for a moment, eyes seeking the clock in the corner of the room where her back is turned. "Fourteen hours."

"Seriously?"

"How long has it been since you've slept?" Killian asks wryly, kissing the top of her head. "You can go back to sleep, love. You've earned it."

"You haven't slept, either," she grumbles. "In between being dead and the Dark One and -"

"And you've slept even less," he points out, voice tender. His hand slides up and down her back soothingly. "Want to go back to sleep darling? I'll stay right here. Might drift off again, myself, if you need the rest."

"No," Emma shakes her head, lifting her head up to meet his eyes. "Not right now, anyway. I just want to...bask."

"Bask?" he repeats, grinning.

"Bask," Emma emphasizes with a nod, her hand coming up to the side of his face and her lips pressing quick kisses along the side of his face - from his chin to his cheek to his forehead. He laughs, the sound full and deep and warming her from the outside in, and she can't hold back her own delighted sounds as she repeats the gesture to the other side of his face. "Can I do that? Can I bask? Right here in our bed?"

Killian can't keep the grin off his face even when she kisses him again. "You most certainly can, my love. Anything you need from me while you're basking in _our_ bed?"

Emma considers that, for a moment. "Just lean back," she instructs, pressing his shoulders down with her hands. He complies easily, head settling down on the pillows.

"Like this?" he asks, just to verify that he's meeting her demands.

"Just like this," Emma agrees, leaning her head down to press her lips along the column of his throat. His adam's apple bobs and she grins.

-/-

Emma spends a prolonged few moments kissing every inch of skin she can find on his shoulders and neck, the only sound between them contented sighs and the occasional slight gasp. His hand settles at the base of her spine, keeping her close. Her hands have settled at his bare hips, fingers curling along the skin she finds there.

"I spent centuries," Killian sighs, the sound scarcely hissing through his teeth when she skims her teeth along his collar. "Centuries without a touch like this."

Emma raises an eyebrow, hands moving up his chest. "You're not telling me Captain Hook, who I personally witnessed being flanked by barmaids, wasn't used to a woman's touch."

His hand catches one of hers when it reaches his collar, sliding his fingers through hers and knotting them together. She seems to catch his seriousness, her face becoming more serious than light with a furrow of her brow and a straightening of her lips. "But not like this," she realizes, her voice soft and weighed with such a gentle cadence that he can feel the love he has for her thrumming through his body, in her gentleness and reverence and all of the things that make Emma Swan who she is.

"Aye," he replies, voice thick and chest rumbling with something, something unknown. "But not like this."

There was the touch of a woman, sure, but innately sexual and seductive - detached from any feeling aside from immediate gratification. Not like the comfort of Emma's hands on him, the gentleness of her kiss.

(His lips nearly stung after she kissed him, when he could feel the sheer feeling in the fierce slide of her lips against his. He could feel just how much she meant more than a thank-you, more than just this once, feel the urgency of her kiss and just how alike him she was -

She kissed him passionately, he remembers, to settle a score. But he could tell just how long it'd been since someone touched her in that reverent way, since someone gave her that feeling in return. So while her lips had been persistent and firm, he'd been soft and searching until he found a hint of the returning gesture in that soft sigh and the press of her forehead against his. Killian could feel that same loneliness, that same dearth of affection and desperation in her, and it was as if a piece of the puzzle slid into place.)

(The second time she had kissed him, he could feel the gentleness she was afraid of showing the first time around. And, just like that, he'd felt what he hadn't in centuries.)

Her eyes are fixed on his and he knows she understands him. They'd always been skilled at understanding each other, seeing those fragmented pieces reflected in one another, but it becomes even easier to read each other the closer they get to mending those pieces.

Emma brings his hand up to her lips, skimming her mouth over his knuckles. She opens his palm with her fingers, pressing another kiss to that. Killian moves his hand to rake in her hair, fingers settling in her scalp with blonde strands threading through them. Emma takes his other arm - handless and braceless and bare - and presses a kiss to the end of it. Her eyes are on his the entire time; he feels as if he's drowning in green.

"I love you," he tells her, voice faint and breath coming in pants. Killian loves her so much he could overflow with it, feels it pounding against his ribcage and settling in the base of his spine. Words can't properly describe it, can't encompass it, so he has to settle for the closest substitute - no matter how short it may fall in describing how he feels about her. Killian could fill pages of books and still never come close to encompassing all of it.

While he's always been suited for the telling, the grand tales and the effusive praise, Emma has always shown her feelings best through action. Her hands skim down his arms and settle at his shoulders, massaging a bit at the muscle she finds there.

"I love you," she tells him. His eyes fall shut, content to feel the touch of her skin and to hear the sound of her voice. Emma's hand come down to his chest, raking through the hair she finds there, and the settle at his hips. Killian feels her lips brush against his breastbone, just above where his heart is beating wildly.

(She's been fascinated by his heart, lately, always needing to feel it, hear it, be sure of its functioning. The side effects of being brought back to the dead, he supposes.)

He opens his eyes once more and she's kissing a tattoo she's found at his shoulder, just a small anchor decorating pale skin. Killian chuckles.

"Enjoying the art?" he asks, arching an eyebrow and grinning up at her.

Emma smiles wryly in response, leaning back down to slide her tongue against the mark. A contented noise simmers at the back of his throat and his hand tightens in her hair. "How many do you have?"

He hums contentedly, fingers massaging her scalp as his eyes fall shut once more. "Enough."

"That's not an answer," her voice is light, teasing.

"Perhaps you should find them all, count them," he suggests, lips curling upwards. "Makes it a bit more interesting, doesn't it?"

Emma's hand skims over his wrist, where the image of the dagger and Milah's name is inked into his skin, and brings it up to her lips much in the way she did his hand and wrist. "One," she murmurs into his skin.

Killian swallows, hard, when her eyes come up to meet his. "That's one," he agrees, voice thick.

She bends down to find the anchor with her lips once more. "The anchor is two."

(Emma is his anchor, really, has always been - tethering him and keeping him here, right where he belongs. A fact that's anointed by the gods, now, that with her is where he always belongs. The discovery would be more stunning if he didn't feel as if he's known it since her eyes met his - peered down at him with suspicion - that perhaps right where he was was where he needed to be.)

Emma's words break him out of his line of thinking. "Any on the lower half?" her hand fists in the sheets hanging low on his hips, ready to pull them down if needed.

"Is that your way of asking me if I have ink on my arse, Swan?"

Emma laughs, eyes shining and teeth showing. "Yeah. Yeah, that's my way of asking if you have ink on your ass. Stranger things have happened."

"I don't," he assures her, even as her hand comes around to cup the asset in question. "Though you're welcome to explore…"

"Oh, shush," Emma replies, sliding off his lap. He mourns the loss of her for a moment until she gestures for him to turn over. "Back, right? Let's take a look at the back."

"Turn around this, take a look at the back that," Killian teases, even as he complies. His cheek is resting against the pillow, head turned in her direction before she saddles back over him and sits on the top of the back of his thighs. "Am I your show horse, then? Inspecting me to see if I'm fit?"

"You're plenty fit," she says. He can almost hear the grin in her voice as her hands slide along his back. "I'm just enjoying the view. Waiting for you to make a comment about being devilishly handsome, me missing the sight of your pretty face, something along those lines."

"I miss the sight of your pretty face," he says, instead.

Emma laughs. Killian hears the breath catch in her throat a moment later and worries for a brief moment. "Everything alright, love?"

Her fingers press delicately at a spot between his shoulders and Killian know she's found it.

"When did you get this?" Emma asks, her voice only coming out in a whisper.

Killian doesn't need to ask her what she means. A swan, simple and small, is inked on his back. A small reminder for a woman he never thought he'd see again. "The year you were gone, off in New York. I wanted something for you. I could never forget you, not truly, but I...I suppose I wanted the reminder. Something as permanent as the mark you left on me. Though, of course, the mark you left on me may be even more so, given -"

Emma's fingers slide over the mark, again, and he sighs raggedly until his eyes fall shut. "Thank you," she tells him, voice thick with emotion.

"Was going to have it near my heart, see, and have all of those lovely connotations. Unfortunately, then they would have had to shave my chest and, well -"

Emma kisses this one, too, and his eyes fall shut.

"Three."

"I love you," he rasps out, once more.

"I know," she says instead of replying in turn, a laugh nearly bubbling out of her as if she's enjoying some sort of private joke. Perhaps it's a reference, as much as she seems to enjoy those. He'd be irritated, but it's hardly to feel anything but blissful with Emma's weight at his back and her affection and the sound of her laughter.

Emma finds a fourth, just a small skull and crossbones, at his lower back. She kisses this one, a symbol of his piracy, with a smile he can feel against his skin. "That makes four. Any more I'm missing, because I don't see any more."

Her hands run up and down his back some more, fingers probing. Killian groans contentedly, nearly purrs like a damn kitten, but her hands stop suddenly. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Killian replies, perplexed by the question. "Why would it?"

Emma doesn't answer. He can almost picture the way she's worrying her lip between her teeth and he tries to think, for a moment. Killian thinks of what she could have seen to make her worry and sighs once he does. "The scars are old, darling. Nothing to worry about, The ones Hades left were healed by you in the Underworld."

"Do you want me to heal these?" Emma asks cautiously, her hand resting over the marks. They're remnants of lashings from Silver, a cruel punishment from a cruel man.

Killian sighs, shaking his head. "Appreciate the thought, love, but they hardly cause me pain anymore. Centuries old, by now. Makes the pirate a bit more interesting, eh?"

Emma is silent in response and, though his back is turned, he can almost see that little crease in her brow and the slight frown in her lip - lines creasing on her face.

"Unless of course they bother you, in which case my body is yours to do -"

Emma stops him with her lips pressing against where he knows those marks are and he lets out a long, shuddering breath - once again overcome with sheer feeling for this woman.

"No," she answers, finally. "You're right. They're perfect as they are."

 _You're_ perfect as you are is left unsaid, but he feels it just the same in the tenor of her voice and the skim of her hand along his spine. Killian exhales raggedly, arching into her touch.

"No more tattoos," he tells her. "May I turn around now?"

"Of course," Emma says, sliding off of him to allow him to move. He turns on his back, opening her arms as if to welcome her back into them, and Emma slides back within his embrace easily. He presses a kiss to her temple, arms wrapped snugly around her midsection. She's still bare, they both are, from the night's activities.

"Want to switch positions?" he suggests, kissing her shoulder. "Lie down while I do an inspection of your perfect form, love?"

"Inspection is about the least romantic way you can describe it, but sure," Emma rolls her eyes, the exasperated move contradiction the upward curve of her lips, and lies down beside him. It's a big bed, much bigger than his bunk back on the Jolly, and he props his arms over her head as he rests a knee at either side of her thighs. The sheet slides off, leaving them both exposed, but Killian doesn't believe either of them mind.

"May I revere and worship at your altar, my love?" he rephrases, smirking as her face pinches.

"I guess so,' she replies, hand coming down to rest on her forehead dramatically. "I only have the one tattoo, though, so if you're looking to go spelunking…"

"Spelunking?" he asks, eyebrows raising.

"Cave exploring," Emma explains, grinning up at him. "What, is there a word I know that you don't? Am I dreaming?"

Killian chuckles, shaking his head. "You're hardly a cave, darling."

"Don't ruin this for me," she grumbles, head tilting up to meet his lips. She kisses him slowly, hand moving to cup his head. He reciprocates fully, tongue sliding against hers and her other arm snaking around his shoulders.

"I'd never ruin anything for you if I could help it, Swan."

-/-

Killian's hand catches hers as it slides down from his hair. He presses it against his lips, lavishing it in his attentions, and she can't help but be reminded of the last time he did this.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brow furrowing at the expression that must have flitted across her face.

"Every time you do that I'm just going to think of you kissing my hand before you let me go," Emma murmurs, eyes becoming a little blurry to see out of. He's here, he's right here and he came back and he isn't leaving, but the reminder still stings.

"Well, then," he tells her, voice sounding a little choked. He presses another kiss to her knuckles, hand tightening in hers. "I suppose I just won't let go, then."

"You can't hold on forever, Killian."

"Can't I?" he challenges, bringing their hands down to the mattress as he dips his head to press kisses along her cheeks. She laughs, tilting her head back, but he continues with his affections undisturbed. "I'd say I can hold on for however long I damn well please, so long as I have your permission. Do I?"

Killian trails his mouth down to her neck, sucking a patch of it into his skin as she arches underneath him. She needs him, feels a fire stoking in her belly with how much she needs him, and her hips rock against his. Emma bites her tongue to keep noise from escaping, the exploration turning much more innocent. Given it's Killian doing it this time, she shouldn't be that surprised.

"Do I?" he repeats, his head coming up as he waits for an answer. Emma's eyes are heavy-lidded when they meet his, a soft smile curving his lips.

"Do you what?" she asks, a little dazed.

"Have your permission."

Emma nods and he skims his handless arm along her ribs. She bites her lip, hard, trying not to pant. "I love you," she rasps, saying the words so often now that she's addicted to them. Emma can't stop them from coming out now, when she suppressed them for so long.

"I know," he tells her, grinning, as his wrist caressed the underside of her breasts. She bites her lip harder, hand tightening in his and the stroking small patterns on his beard.

"You don't even know where that's from," she protests, his mouth trailing down to the valley of her breasts, licking and sucking in his wake. Her teeth left indents on her bottom lip and she licks her lips.

"Doesn't matter," he replies easily, his wrist pushing her nipple towards his lips as her fingers tighten in his hair. He laves over it and she hisses, the sound sticking in her throat. "There's no need to be quiet, love," Killian assures her, kissing over the spot he'd just given his attentions. "It's just us."

He squeezes her hand to prove his point. She nods, the movement a little jerky.

"Just us," she agrees, blowing out a stream of air. "It's just us."

Killian swallows hard, looking down at her with her hair splayed on the mattress their fingers interlocked near her head. He bends his head down again to kiss a mark above her breast. "What's this from, this scar? I've been wondering since you wore that barmaid outfit."

Emma laughs, her body shaking with the sound. "I fell out of a tree when I was ten."

"Quite an adventurous spirit you have there, Swan," he grins against the mark. "I see it stuck."

"Says the pirate."

"I do quite like to treasure you," Killian retorts, that ridiculous grin still on his face.

She leans up to kiss it off of him, her chest pressing against his and their kisses getting more and more heated with each slide. Her leg slides over his hips, keeping him in place and his length pressing against her belly, but he leans back before her hand can leave his to grasp at his back and pull him closer.

Killian squeezes her hand, his head pressed against hers. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are closed - he looks like a man desperately trying to control himself. She lets her hand slide down from his hair to his back, skimming up and down. "I wasn't done," he tells her, once he's caught his breath.

"Wasn't saying you were," she replies easily. "I just want to get started."

"Good things come to those who wait, lass."

"Or maybe you're just being a tease," she quirks an eyebrow up, leaning back against the pillows with a light hum. Her leg is still in place over his hips, but he only slides down her body and forces it to lie back down. The action spreads her legs, roughly shoulder length apart, and he presses a kiss to the skin of her belly. His beard scratches against her and she arches, just a bit, trying to get him closer, trying to chase more of what he can give.

"I love you," she repeats, as if the words are just another exhale.

"And I you," he says, and the words sound like a promise when his eyes meet hers and he tugs their hands to press against her hip, anchoring her down as his mouth slides down. Killian gives her one firm lick, chasing her wetness and pressing against her clit all in one slow drag. She clutches his hand so hard it must hurt, but the weight of his keeps her hips pinned to the mattress.

"I love you," Emma tells him again, this time when he kisses against her skin, hot and open mouthed as he slides his tongue inside of her. She hiccups, hips nearly bucking against him. "I love you so," the vowels get drawn out, long and slow and she loses her breath before she can even finish when he starts drawing patterns and her legs shake in an effort to keep them open. "So much," she rasps, finally finishing her sentence as her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head.

He keeps up the pattern, tracing the alphabet between her legs, and once he gets to 'K' her legs are locked around his head. Her hand fists in his hair, pressing him impossibly closer to her, and she finally shatters when he gently, very scrapes his teeth over where she's the most sensitive Emma has to leave marks on his hand with her nails, nearly tears out clumps of his hair, but he just calmly licks her down from the high.

"I love you," he says against the skin of her inner thigh - that patch where her leg connects to her hips - licking his lips. Her legs loosen, splay on the sheets limply as she attempts to catch her breath.

She closes her eyes, hand sliding from his hair. He repeats the words, over and over, as he skims his mouth down her leg. He stops at her calf - he can't go down any further without letting go of her hand while she's lying down - and works his way back up. Killian repeats the action on her other leg.

When he's done, she just tugs on his hand to get him back up so she can kiss him. Killian complies easily, murmuring something about how he's hers to command, and she chases the taste of him with her tongue. Their hands stay interlocked beside them, even as her hand slides down to where he's hard and stiff against her stomach, giving him a few quick pumps before he breaks apart from her. Her teeth slide against his lips in an effort to keep him close.

"Fuck," he rasps against her lips, their noses bumping. She squeezes him again, just for good measure because she loves reducing him to this, just a puddle of curses he's usually too refined for. For a sailor, aside from a few 'bloody hells' and 'damns', he doesn't curse much. When Killian does, it's a sign of just how much she wrecks him, how vulnerable she can make him.

She sees the same vulnerability in herself when she's with him. Emma has learned to embrace it, learned to work with it, learned to love it.

Emma grins, scooting up slightly just so she can line him up where she needs him the most. Killian makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, bucking into her touch without thinking, and the tip of him brushes against her clit. Her legs scramble to wrap around his hips, desperate to get him closer.

"Wait," he protests, hair hanging in his face and exertion showing in just how much he's holding back. Emma freezes immediately. "I don't suppose we need another one of those sheaths, do we?"

She breathes a sigh of relief, grateful he doesn't want to stop just for the sake of it. Emma wants him so badly she throbs, feels the heat thrumming in her blood. She shakes her head. "I'm on the pill," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to her jaw. "Won't get pregnant. It's um, something you take to prevent -" she sighs, eyes falling shut awkwardly. "I'm killing the mood."

"Love," he manages, the tip of him still pressing lightly against her skin. "A bloody portal could appear in the middle of this room and it wouldn't 'kill the mood', as you put it.

"Good," she says, hand still at the base of him. "Good, that's - that's good."

Killian chuckles, head dipping down to rest in the crook of her shoulder as he presses inside of her, gentle as can be. Emma takes in deep, steadying, breaths. Their hands come up to press against her chest, where her heart is beating wildly.

"I love you," she says, pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

He doesn't reply until he's fully seated inside of her and she's squirming, desperate for more of this and him. Killian ruts inside of her, pushing further and further until she's snug against the base of him. Emma's hand grapples to grasp his ass, desperate to get him as close as physically possible. "I love you," he tells her, head coming up so he can meet her eyes. They stay fixed on her as he slides out, just the slightest bit, only to slide right back in. "I love you, Emma."

Killian starts off with a slow rhythm, sliding out almost all of the way with only the tip of him inside of her only to slowly press right back in. It's full, long, deep, but it's not enough if they want this to go anywhere. Emma's hand tightens on his ass, pushing him deeper and harder as his hand squeezes hers. She kisses every inch of skin she can reach - from his cheeks to his chin to his shoulders - and he attempts to reciprocate the best he can. More often, he catches her lips. She bites his lip and his thrusts start to speed up.

"Killian," she murmurs - gasps, keens more like - and he groans. His arm falls to the bed beside them, shifting his weight on it so he can pick up the pace. He's rutting her into the bed now, grinding up in a way that gets sloppier and sloppier. For a man of his finesse, it reeks of desperation and need and - she loves getting him like this, she really does.

It's hard to think about that, though, hard to think about anything when he's hard inside of her, making her burn from head to toe, stretching her in a way that has her gasping. "Fuck, Killian," her hand tightens on his and she never wants to let it go, never has to let it go. One thrust has her moaning, scrambling for purchase and wrapping her legs like a vise around him. "Fuck, Killian, just like that. Harder, faster, please," and she's desperate, too, just like that.

"Just like this?" he asks, pulling the words from his throat with some effort as he pulls most of the way out of her. She whines at the loss, encouraging him back in with a grinding of her hips downwards. "This, you need this?"

"I need you," she rasps.

"I love you," Killian mutters, the words coming out in concentration as he ruts into her. He follows her instructions, harder and faster.

"So close," she gasps out, the sound so needy it's almost shameful.

(He'd tell her to never be ashamed of needing this, needing him, to just let him in and - fuck - he feels so good inside of her.)

"I've got you, love," he encourages her, taking their hands down between her legs. She takes the instruction quickly, rolling her clit with her fingers with his fingers pressing over them, making the strokes harder there as he does when he slides in and out of her. "C'mon, Swan, you can do it. Please, please, please, love, come on, just-"

He's begging her, pleading with her, and she knows he's just as close as she is. Maybe closer, if he's this desperate. Killian's pace becomes even harder, just as his fingers over hers do at her clit. With the combined effort, her mouth falls open into a silent scream and her body arches into his. Killian laughs, breathlessly, thrusting into her a few more times in an unsteady rhythm.

Killian chases the high of her release and finds it a minute later, choking out her name. His head nuzzles into the crook of her neck as he softens inside of her.

"Better every time," he tells her, voice hoarse. Killian drags their hands from between them and lets them fall down beside them. "I love you, Swan."

Emma's hand comes up to his hair, fingers knotting in his scalp as she tries to catch her breath. Her heart beats an unsteady rhythm in her chest. "I love you."

"Glad I can say it, now," he chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Now I can't seem to stop."

"Me neither," she agrees, squeezing his hand once more. His head comes up to press against her forehead, beard scraping against her skin and reminding her of the burn between her thighs. Killian slips out of her, grabbing a few tissues off the nightstand, and she groans.

His hand is still attached to hers, not even letting go of it then. Emma has to smile, at that, just squeezing his hand tighter until she's sure his rings are leaving indents in her palms. The fact that he's taking this promise so literally, not even letting go of her hand once, makes her feel a rush of affection for him.

Emma just wants to stay like this, just like this, forever. No curses, no portals, no death, nothing - just them in this bed never letting go of each other. Mapping the path of each other, learning each other in a way they never had the time to before.

( _"I have all the time in the world."_ )

(He didn't - they didn't - then, but they do now. Whatever slice of heaven, or its Greek equivalent or whatever Killian just came back from, this is what she'll cling to. For as long as they have, she'll hang onto this piece of bliss as tightly as she's hanging onto his hand.)

(She makes a mental note to look up a few ' _did you fall from heaven?'_ pick up lines later, with that thought. Teasing him with modern references is something she'll never get tired of, that initial confusion giving way to reluctant affection.)

"I don't want to move," Emma whines, clutching the pillow. Killian chuckles, sidling beside her and draping the sheet over the both of them. He pulls her into his side, their hands draping over her waist.

"You don't have to," he assures her, pressing a kiss under her ear. He nuzzles into her easier, fitting behind her as naturally as breathing.

"I do eventually," Emma points out, groaning. "My long lost relative is going to burn someplace down, someone is going to open a portal, there's going to be some new catastrophe -"

"All the more reason to enjoy the time we have, hm?" Killian says, pressing kisses along the column of her throat until he settles for pressing his nose against her shoulder. She murmurs something unintelligible in response and he chuckles lightly. "Ah, did I tire you out? Apologies, love."

Emma rolls her eyes, even as her breathing starts to even out and her eyes start to flutter closed. Orgasms are the best sleep aid, as it turns out, especially if you spent weeks deprived of a wink of it. "I'm still sleep deprived, you know. So are you. This is our sleep day -"

"All week," he corrects.

"Just getting this day is an honest miracle," Emma points out, thumb sliding over the back of his hand. "Zeus couldn't get us a week. Literally, he could not."

"A week," Killian emphasizes. "You need the rest."

"I need _you_ ," she says, the words coming out as a reflex.

"You have me," he tells her fondly, "Always, love."

"Go to sleep," she instructs, her words slurring together. She feels warm, so warm, and it's easy to fall into this again. The feeling of his hand in hers, steady and constant, is the best lullaby she could ask for. "Love you."

"And I love you," he responds, his arm tightening around her. With his breath on her neck and the feeling of him surrounding her, it's easy to cave into sleep, into peace, into the feeling of sinking into the mattress and into him. They both fall asleep within minutes.


End file.
